


Fast Food Fraud

by Katiebug586



Category: Fillmore!
Genre: At least a parody of it, Chuck E. Cheese's, Crime, Drama, Food Poisoning, Mystery, rats rats we are the rats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katiebug586/pseuds/Katiebug586
Summary: Don't eat the pizza.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	1. ACT ONE: A Meal To Die For

It was a day like any other at X Middle School. The Sci-Fi Club’s annual convention was in full swing and the field outside of the school was buzzing with activity and excitement. Geeks dressed in nerdy costumes from their favorite shows, comic book fans, and various other students milled about, talking to one another and sharing their ideas and opinions about their niche interests.

Of course, for the Safety Patrol, this was just business as usual.

For  _ most _ of the Safety patrol, that was.

“But that’s not the best part! In Issue #94; Attack of the Brain-Eating Manties, Morphman shapeshifts into a giant hawk-like monster and proceeds to devour all of the evil insectoids that have taken over the city! Isn’t that cool or what?!”

Fillmore nodded. not knowing exactly  _ what  _ O’Farrell was talking about, but knew it was better to nod along instead of asking questions. “Sounds amazing.”

“I know, right?! It gets even cooler when you realize that birds are a mantis’ natural predator! It’s like the writers  _ knew! _ Like a science lesson in a comic book!” O’Farrell froze, realizing what he said, “Ew,  _ science lesson. _ Don’t they understand we read comics because we don’t  _ want _ to learn?”

“You’re constantly learning things, whether you like it or not,” Ingrid chimed in, “Our brains subconsciously take in information for us and process it, converting it into something we can understand comprehend.”

“What?!” O’Farrell gripped his head, “No, no, no! I am  _ not _ learning anything, you can’t make me!”

“Well, you just proved my point. Your brain learned that you learn even when you don’t  _ think _ you’re learning, and is trying to comprehend and process that information, although the…  _ you _ part of you refuses to accept it.”

“Stop trying to throw me into a paradox! I’m  _ not _ learning and there’s nothing my brain can do to make me! I’m getting something to eat so I can forget this conversation  _ ever _ happened!”

Ingrid snickered to herself as she watched O’Farrell storm off into the crowd. “Good luck.”

“Wow, you’re good,” Fillmore commented, “Not even a fraction of an insult and you managed to get him more flustered than Anza whenever Tehama even  _ looks _ in his general direction, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be, it’s not that hard. It’s all a matter of telling them what they  _ don’t _ want to hear. For O’Farrell, it’s the fact that he  _ does _ have more than one brain cell, as surprising as that sounds. Besides, I did manage to get us away from him for a bit, didn’t I? As much as we all  _ love _ O’Farrell, dealing with his… interests for an entire convention is too tiring on its own, especially when the convention revolves around nothing  _ but _ his interests.

“I get that, but,” Fillmore mused, looking down at the gravel beneath his feet, “I guess I feel kind of bad for the guy. Sure, sometimes he can be an earful, but imagine how lonely he must be, not having anyone else to talk to about what he enjoys, anyone who  _ knows _ what he’s talking about, I mean..”

“Maybe he’ll find a friend here,” Ingrid replied, “This place is full of people with just as much nerd cred as he has, there’s bound to be someone here who’s willing to take him under their wing, or at least give him the time of day.”

“I hope so. I’ve never known that someone could be so passionate about comics until I met O’Farrell. Did I ever tell you that story?” Ingrid shook her head, letting the boy continue, “Our old photographer, Henry Castro, got a spot in the Photography Club, so we needed a replacement. Unfortunately, not many people fancy the idea of sitting around and taking photos all day, so we were running out of time. If we didn’t find a replacement for Henry soon, we’d be stuck with the tripod, and let me tell you, using that baby is a lot harder than it looks.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, let’s just say O’Farrell happened. Supposedly, he got turned around while trying to audition for the Photography Club, but Chief decided to give him a shot. He wasn’t exactly another Henry, but we weren’t in the position to risk wasting more time trying to find a photographer that doesn’t exist, so we took our chances with O’Farrell.”

“I see. But what’s wrong with using the tripod? It doesn’t seem  _ that _ complicated.”

Fillmore chuckled. “It’s not, but it’s much easier when the photographer in question is sentient and can make decisions on their own, even if they aren’t rational or logical.”

“Fair enough,” Ingrid replied, watching the con-goers mingle and converse with one another, “Still, it’s nice to get some fresh air and downtime, isn’t it? Sci-fi and comic books aren’t really  _ my  _ thing, but-”

“They’re not? Don’t fool yourself, Ingrid. There’s something out there for everyone to enjoy, even you.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up about that.”

Fillmore paused, looking like he had struck upon an epiphany of some kind. “Disco! Since we’re down here, why don’t we swing by some of the stalls and check out some of the goods? It’ll be a nice way to pass the time, you might even find something that interests you!”

“I don’t know, Fillmore,” Ingrid quipped, fidgeting with her sash, “I’ve never been into comic books or futuristic space operas. I can’t help but feel like it would be weird if I was suddenly  _ into _ that stuff, especially when you consider the kind of person that I am.”

“That’s nonsense. You can like comics and still be yourself, a person is more than their interests and passions. Besides, I think science fiction would be right up your alley, Miss. Two-Smart-For-Her-Own-Good.”

Fillmore’s comment brought a small smile to Ingrid’s face. “I suppose you’re right, I’ll… I’ll give it a shot.”

“That’s the spirit,” her partner began, “but before we start our rounds, why don’t we grab a bite to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

She nodded. “That sounds like a plan. Let’s just hope our options aren’t limited to whatever weird ‘sci-fi’ cuisine they’ve concocted down here. I’d rather not get sick after eating a radioactive space burger or something.”

The two weaved through the crowd of excited students, looking for something suitable to eat. Unsurprisingly, many of the food stalls were dedicated to ‘alien’ cookery and other strange, unearthly dishes. Ingrid could feel her stomach lurch at the thought of eating something more unclassified than an alien itself, but her stomach was beginning to see the error of its ways, begging her to pick something to eat.

Thankfully, she spotted a small stall offering less exotic fare, even though it still wasn’t food she would  _ normally _ indulge on.

“Ratty Ratso’s… Cheesy Emporium?” she read out loud, inspecting the pre-packaged pizza slices on display, “What kind of place is this stall even representing?”

“Only the best pizza and arcade joint in town.” Fillmore replied, “Man, I made so many memories at that place, it was like my second home!”

Ingrid rolled her eyes at her partner’s response. “I sure wish my home was as filthy and disease-ridden as your average inner-city arcade center.”

“I’m sure you do,” they said, acknowledging her sarcasm, “Hey, Ratso!”

As soon as he said that, the stall worker, dressed in a ridiculous rat costume, popped up from behind the counter. The costume in question was not only unkempt and matted down, but it was also coated in grease stains, making it smell like the bottom of an outhouse. Still, despite smelling worse than a barn, ‘Ratty Ratso’ wore a  _ cheesy  _ grin, staring at Ingrid with dead eyes. “Howdy, y’all! Ratty Ratso, at your service!”

“It’s been a while since I ate at your establishment,” Fillmore began, fishing out some money, “think you can hook us up?”

“Done, and done!”

The safety patroller was about to hand them five dollars when a sickly boy ran up, waving frantically at the trio.

“Hello there, little boy, can I help-”

“DON’T EAT THAT PIZZA!” they interrupted Ratso, clutching at their stomach, “You… You mad man! What did you… What did you put in that…”

They gagged, running off towards a trash can and… Fillmore and Ingrid had to avert their eyes from the scene. The boy then looked up at the two officers with eyes of pity and sorrow. “Please… officers, save yourselves.”

“That was gross,” Ingrid commented, “Wait… what the-”

Fellow students and con-goers were on the ground, clutching their stomachs in agony, while those who, luckily, weren’t afflicted, watched the scene unfold with grave concern.

Furrowing his brows, Fillmore looked at the heaps of sick middle schoolers and then back at Ratso, who seemed indifferent to the ordeal, but that might have been due to the dumb smile plastered on the costume.

_ “Keep the pizza.” _


	2. ACT TWO: Ill Intentions

“Let me tell you a joke since we’re all in the mood to be hilarious today,” Principal Folsom started, pacing around her office, “Three hundred or so students walk into a convention, and fifty-one of those students end up contracting some form of foodborne illness as a result of that. Do you want to guess what the punchline is?”

“...Because it was on the other side?” Fillmore asked, chuckling nervously.

“No, but bravo for trying. The punchline is what I’ll do to the Safety Patrol if you don’t come up with some answers to how this happened! Get it? I’ll turn your pretty little position into a  _ joke.” _

“I have to say, that was a clever joke.”

“Thank you, Raycliff, at least someone here has a sense of humor,” she said, sitting down at her desk, “Now, where was I? Oh, that’s right, the sick students, the ones whose panicked parents are hounding my telephone line for an explanation, which I don’t have! Now, I suppose you’re wondering what this has to do with you and your little pep squad, so allow me to explain. You’re going to find the source of our little ‘incident’ and eliminate it. Find the culprit, bring honor back to our school, do I make myself clear?”

“Uh-”

“Clearer than w-water, ma’am!” Vallejo said, interrupting Ingrid, “Get it? Water? Clear? It’s a joke and-”

“But I’m not laughing, how strange,” Folsom replied, crossing her arms, “Now, shoo, I have other duties to attend to.”

The two officers and Junior Commissioner departed the principal’s office promptly, having no desire to deal with the woman or her eccentric, borderline sadistic humor. Dealing with her was like talking to a brick wall, so to say. At least the brick wall didn’t treat you like a moron and threaten to turn your office into a spa.

Leaning on one of the walls, Vallejo mumbled vaguely, “I really  _ am _ a joke, aren’t I?”

“What makes you say that? Fillmore inquired, “You're the least comedic person in the patrol, which is quite an achievement, given Anza’s reputation.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Fillmore! At least Anza knows how to tell a joke! Did you hear me in there? Duh, clearer than water, because water is clear and clear is also a word that indicates you understand the situation! Look how funny I am! I’m the pun-master!  _ Please.” _

“Your jokes aren’t that bad, Vallejo; I’ve heard worse.” Ingrid interrupted, “I feel nothing but compassion and empathy for anyone forced to endure such degradation at the hands of  _ dad jokes.” _

Fillmore nodded in agreement. “Now  _ that’s _ a cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Allllllright,” Vallejo groaned out, sighing dramatically as he pushed himself away from the wall, “Can we push the emotional pity party to the side and focus? We still have a case that needs solving.”

“Well,” Fillmore began, “we know the illness started at the convention, but where? What stall? Wait, Ratty Ratso’s! We were there yesterday when that kid came up and- Disco! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

_ “Affirmative,” _ his partner replied, smirking, “Let's play a little cat and mouse game, shall we?”

Thick clouds shrouded the skies, creating an overcast atmosphere in contrast to the warmth and sunlight of the previous day. Although there weren't as many con-goers as before, some were still brave enough to return to the convention, regardless of the risks and potential health and safety hazards involved.

The two patrollers walked past several students, janitors, and stalls as they approached one notorious stall in particular. Thankfully, the odorous, grease-smeared rat-man was still running the stall, their crusted back turned and seemingly oblivious to the two. 

However, when Fillmore approached the counter, the oversized rodent whipped around, the same uncanny grin still etched on its slowly decomposing face. “Heya, kiddos! Come for some more pizza? I know that yesterday we had a bit of an oopsie, but-”

“Sorry, Ratso, we’re going to have to skip on the pizza this time,” Fillmore said, unsheathing his badge and showing it to them, “Safety Patrol. We’ve received some reports about a serious food poisoning case, and given what happened yesterday, I’d say there’s something a tad suspicious going on around here, don’t you think?”

‘Ratso’, trembling a little, backed against the counter at the end of the stall. “Sorry kids! Ratty Ratso doesn’t offer refunds!”

The mascot proceeded to spin around and jump over the counter, trying to flee the scene. 

Witnessing the spectacle, Fillmore and Ingrid exchanged glances, a sense of mutual understanding written on their faces as they mentally plotted out their next course of action. 

“You take the left side,” Ingrid began, sprinting across the grassy field, “I’ll take the right and try to slow him down for you.”

Fillmore nodded, rushing down the opposite side of her. “You got it, sis.”

Meanwhile, the costumed individual was running as fast as they could through the green field, trying not to trip over their mouse-like feet. Looking behind, they yelped in surprise when they spotted Ingrid charging at them, having not expected the two officers to try to pursue them.

Rather than give themselves up, however, the gigantic man-sized mouse stood their ground, standing patiently. Seeing the girl was close-by, they started running at her, jumping and performing a backflip at the last second. Unfortunately, their giant feet gave way, making them land on their stomach.

“Bravo, bravo,” Fillmore commented, grabbing and pulling the figure up, “I give that an eight for the attempt, but a big fat zero for the execution.”

“W-Wait, kids, I… I can explain! You see…”

Ingrid joined her partner, helping him restrain the costumed suspect. “Save it for the judge, Ratty Ratso.”

The Safety Patrol headquarters were accustomed to seeing all kinds of weird cases, so no questions were asked when two of their best officers stumbled into the office, dragging a gigantic, filthy rat behind them.

Of course, some eyebrows were raised a couple of giggles could be heard, but apart from that, it was completely silent as the two dragged the so-called ‘Ratty Ratso’ into the interrogation room.

Fillmore pushed the strangely silent mascot onto a chair, walking over to the front of them.    
“Now, first thing’s first. Let’s see who you  _ really _ are.”

Without waiting for a complaint, the boy ripped the mascot’s head off, revealing it to be none other than…

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed.  _ “A high schooler.” _

“So, what about it?” the teenager snarled out, their voice bitterly contrasting with the cheery, albeit hammy, tone they had used while wearing the costume, “Why do you care about my identity so much and why do you care if a bunch of children contract food poisoning or not? You’re just a bunch of middle schoolers.”

“Middle schoolers that  _ care, _ ” Fillmore corrected, sitting down at the chair across from them, “and to answer your question, why do we care? Because, if it weren’t for us, who would? You said it yourself, you’re perfectly fine with letting kids get sick thanks to  _ your _ foods. We, on the other hand, are not.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, you know,” they replied, shaking some of their messy brown hair out of their eyes, “Do you think I  _ want _ this job? Do you think I  _ like  _ standing around in a sweaty, unhygienic suit all day, catering to snot-nosed brats? No, I don’t, thank you very much. But I got to bring the dough in somehow, how else am I going to find the money to pay for college tuition? Too bad I have to work for the worst employer in the world, but as they say, it is what it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.”

“Fillmore’s right,” Ingrid said, crossing her arms, “if your employer, assuming he’s as bad as you make him out to be, is forcing your hand, why not find a new job? Why stick around in one that you’re clearly not enjoying?”

“You don’t think I thought of that?” they replied, “I would leave in a heartbeat, but I can’t. It’s my father. You see, he’s the CEO of Ratty Ratso’s, and I’m not saying he’s involved with any of this, because he’s not, but he’s friends with someone who is. That someone is my boss.”

“Dawg, why didn’t you tell him about this?” Fillmore asked.

“I would, but I don’t want to disappoint him. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to work at Ratty Ratso’s, let alone working as the mascot. I never really cared for it, but for my dad… that place is his pride and joy, and I know he expects me to take over the business when he’s no longer able to, but that’s just not  _ me. _ And it gets worse! Somehow my boss, aka my dad’s ‘friend’, somehow found out about my disinterest in working there, and blackmailed me into being a pawn for his schemes, like with what happened yesterday. It was either that, or he would tell my dad, and honestly? I didn’t know what was worse.”

The two officers’ expressions softened, their harsh glares turning into pitying looks as the teenager finished his story.

“I... I had no idea,” Ingrid muttered, turning towards her partner, “What do you think we should do?”

Fillmore rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Ingrid. Well, if there’s one thing I  _ do _ know, we can’t let… what’s your name?”

“Dave.”

“Dave’s boss get away with this! I’m thinking we pay them a little visit and-”

“No! You can’t!” Dave exclaimed, gripping the table, “If you do, he’ll know I was behind it and tell my dad everything! I’ll be labeled as a failure and disappointment to him and become the black sheep of my family!”

Ingrid placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody will be telling your father anything.”

“Yeah, man! And even if your dad finds out, who cares? This is your life, live it the way  _ you _ want to live it, don’t let anybody make you feel like you can’t. Besides, I’m sure your old man understands that his wishes and goals might not line up with yours, but he still loves you, and I’m sure he would ultimately want you to do the right thing. I know it’s sometimes hard to figure out what the right thing to do is, but you have the chance to do so, right now! Let us help you, it’s the least we can do.”

Dave looked up at the two officers, pondering for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh.  _ “Alright, let’s go.” _


End file.
